Titus Andronici

TW: Language & Animal Cruelty.

Enter Titus, like a cook, placing the meat on the table

– Titus Andronicus Act V, Scene III

I.               

        If you’re going to be broken-up with by your girlfriend of six years, the girlfriend you lived with for five of those six years, the girlfriend you recently bought a ring for and hid in the back of your sock drawer, the girlfriend who broke up with you, moved out, and forced you to hock the ring for a fraction of the price because she fell in love with her best friend Aaron, you might as well be a chef with a grueling schedule and no personal life.

And Titus Andronici was, in fact, a highly accomplished chef with a grueling schedule and no personal life.

At 27, Titus had two restaurants and two Michelin Stars to his name. His first restaurant, Saturn, put him on the underground foodie map, but it was his second restaurant, Bassia, that launched him into the mainstream conversation. On the surface, Saturn seemed gimmicky, a New York Magazine article waiting to be written (five tables, no posted hours of operation, the menu only listed Saturn’s 146 moons, etc.), but the food was astounding. Saturn was wild, loose, and fun, but by 25, Titus was having a quarter-life crisis. His best friend Marcus took over Saturn so Titus could focus on what he really loved, Italian food. Bassia was born.

If Titus had to pinpoint a moment his relationship with Mora went wrong, it was Bassia. It turned out that opening a restaurant took even more time than running one. Mora complained that he didn’t know the meaning of “work-life-balance.” He wasn’t present in their relationship. Her parents hardly knew him. If he felt badly about these things, it didn’t stop him from throwing himself into his work. He loved it. Did he love Mora less? Yes. Definitely.

Mora rebelled and the rift between them turned into a canyon. She started taking multiple hours of fitness classes per day. She quit her job with a consulting firm to be a full-time beauty influencer. She got a dog, Albie (a purebred Frenchie). She expressed an interest in owning chickens (strictly as pets) and homesteading. She also declared herself a vegan. In short order, Mora and Titus had nothing left in common. It was after Titus had shown Mora a sample menu for Bassia and she declared it, “Revolting! Disgusting!” that he went out and bought the ring and shoved it in his sock drawer. A stupid idea, but Titus was in the middle of his quarter-life crisis, remember?

Bassia opened with fanfare, packed with food critics and most of Titus’ family and friends, but Mora wasn’t there. It quickly became one of the hottest spots to be seen at and getting a reservation became notoriously difficult, but Mora never stepped foot inside.

II.

“I’ll speak to Chef Titus and call you back,” Livia, Bassia’s hostess, said with a sweet, conspiratorial note in her voice.

Livia walked from the host stand through the dining room which was candle-lit with brass furnishings, black walnut tables and chairs, and linens so white they almost glowed. She passed into the well-ordered kitchen where she could always find Titus hunched over some ingredient, pan, or scrap of paper.

Sure enough, Titus was peeling the skins off Roma tomatoes for the night’s trippa alla romana sauce. Livia watched him score an “X” into the bottom of a tomato, the blade effortlessly butterflyied the plump flesh, and place it in a pot of boiling water. He checked a few tomatoes already in the pot with just his fingers and removed two whose skins were starting to pucker and crinkle. He submerged them in a bowl of ice water for a few seconds. Then, he peeled back their skins, cut each tomato in half, and, with a silver spoon, scooped out their seedy membranes. The pulpy refuse went into a plastic container, the hollowed-out tomatoes into an elegant elliptical-shaped baking dish.

“Titus?” Livia asked before he moved onto the next tomato.

His eyes snapped up. He had no idea she was there.

“Sorry to interrupt - ”

“You’re not interrupting, Livia,” Titus said, straightening and wiping his hands on a cloth tucked into the belt of his chef’s jacket. The cloth was more pink than white at this point, but his jacket was spotless. “What is it?”

“Well, I just got a call. From a guy. He proposed to his girlfriend recently and Bassia is their favorite restaurant. He wanted to know if we could make an exception and put in a reservation for them. For Saturday.”

Titus looked more bemused than annoyed, so Livia continued, “He seemed really sweet. We could put them at 21.”

Table 21 was the worst table in the dining room, usually given to those who made last-minute reservations, ate slowly, and tipped poorly. It was a two-top smack in the middle of a row of two-tops with zero privacy and an AC vent directly overhead.

“Bassia is their favorite restaurant, he said?”

“Yes, and he was really nice. Really apologetic about asking for special treatment.”

“Good,” Titus said, returning his attention to the tomatoes in front of him. “Don’t put them at 21. Move Marcus and put them at 5.”

Livia’s eyes widened. Table 5 was the best table in the dining room. It was a two-top positioned next to a floor-to-ceiling window. It was private, quiet, and overlooked the park across the street. Marcus always sat at 5 when he and his husband Emil came in to eat. Livia wouldn’t put them at 21, so she had some reshuffling to do before Saturday.

“Thank you, Titus! They’ll be so happy,” she said hurrying out to make the phone call and seating changes.

“What are their names?” Titus asked without looking up.

“Aaron and Mora.”

Livia was glad that she was already halfway out the swinging door because Titus looked murderous, knife in hand, with mutilated tomato flesh around him.

III.

Titus had no idea how he made it through service that night. Livia steered 20 feet clear of him after she called Marcus and he told her who Aaron and Mora were. Titus entered some kind of fugue state where he could only cut, chop, stir, and whisk. Then he went home and beat, smashed, and pulverized. That was Thursday. When he woke up around 11am on Friday morning, he sat on the edge of his bed for a long time, thinking.

He thought about where it all went wrong with Mora. He remembered how he came home from Bassia one night, almost a year ago, to find most of her things gone. Albie was gone, too. He called her six times before she picked up. “Where are you? What’s going on?” he asked wearily.

She whispered some incoherent, teary explanation that they were done. She was living with Aaron for the next few weeks.

“So you’re finally fucking Aaron? Mora, you could’ve just told me that and broken up with me.”

“No! It’s not that and it never has been! It’s platonic, Titus. He’s my friend!” she wailed. “Why can’t you understand that? You don’t spend any time with me, but you care who I spend my time with? God, you’re such a hypocrite!”

Just a few weeks ago, Marcus broke the news to him that Mora and Aaron were engaged. Titus didn’t have social media. Marcus showed him the post on Instagram. It was on a beach. They were both sunburnt. The caption was very long.

Now, the two of them were coming into his restaurant. The restaurant Mora refused to step foot in when they were together. The restaurant whose menu she declared revolting and disgusting. With her fiancé, the man she insisted was her best friend who she wasn’t fucking. Titus thought about all the times he was forced to hang out with the guy. Aaron lived on a tiny farm outside the city with sad little planter boxes of cucumbers and strawberries and a tiny chicken coop. Mora thought they should start a “farm to table collective” together. Titus thought about how every time Aaron shook his head and, looking at Mora, told Titus what a lucky guy he was that he was probably picturing Mora naked. Titus couldn’t decide whether his life was a comedy or tragedy.

“What am I supposed to cook for her anyway?!” he shouted at his blank bedroom wall, remembering that, on top of it all, Mora was a vegan. She expected him to wait on her, serve her, and create a vegan dinner just for her. Whether it was tragedy or comedy, it was punishment. It was revenge.

Titus shuffled to the kitchen to do the only thing he felt it was in his power to do: cook. He pulled out spinach, arugula, some left over tomatoes from the trippa sauce, onions, butter, Monterey Jack, and three eggs from the fridge for an omelette. He put a small pan on the front left burner and started prepping the ingredients. He cracked the first egg into a small clear bowl, and an idea began to form in his mind. By the time he cracked the second egg, the plan was hatched. He checked the time, turned off the oven, and left everything where it was. He threw on a shirt and jeans and hurried out the door.

IV.

Livia gaped at Titus when he walked in the restaurant Saturday afternoon for two reasons. One, he was late. Titus was never late. Second, his hair was quaffed, and his beard shaved down to stubbled perfection. Titus was handsome but careless with his appearance. Today he looked like he had just come from an interview with Food & Wine.

 “Livia, can you come into the kitchen with me quick? I’m making a change to the menu tonight.”

“Um, sure.” Livia followed behind Titus; her eyes still fixed on his perfect hair.

“86 the Amatriciana tonight. I’m doing a vegan chicken parm instead.”

When Livia’s pen didn’t make any movement on her paper, Titus clarified, “For Mora and Aaron.”

“Right, of course. Titus-”

“Chef.”

Livia stared at him. His dark eyes stared back. He had never corrected her before, never seemed to care whether she called him “Chef” or “Titus.” The two seemed to be interchangeable.

“Right, of course, chef. I wanted to say, I didn’t get a chance to yesterday - I’m so sorry. I had no idea. If I had known-”

“You didn’t know. It’s okay. We’re gonna do a special vegan menu, just for Mora and Aaron tonight, and then it’s over. Think of them as customers. That’s all. And next time, we’ll make sure no exes of mine are calling for a last-minute Saturday night reservation.”

Livia wanted to be reassured by the lightness of his tone, but something about the blankness in his eyes made it impossible.

“Yes, chef. So, 86 the Amatriciana and add vegan chicken parm just for Mora and Aaron’s menus then?”

“Yes, exactly. Here’s the description: Seitan marinated in our homemade vegan chicken bouillon and rolled in vegan parmesan breadcrumbs topped with vegan mozzarella over homemade vegan red sauce and penne pasta. Fresh basil to garnish.”

V.

“Ooh, seitan! That sounds perfect, doesn’t it babe? God, I love fresh basil,” Aaron said to himself, but very much out loud, as he read through the menu. This habit was one of Mora’s least favorite things about him. It was unclear whether he expected her to respond, because when she did, he looked surprised and said something like, “Huh?”

Mora was annoyed. She expected to be put at a terrible table she could complain about, receive a menu with no vegan options that she could complain about, and surprise Titus with her presence when he came out to apologize to her for the bad table and morally unethical food. Maybe he would corner her on her way to the bathroom and admit that he had fucked up, that he had prioritized the restaurant over her, and that he wanted her back. Maybe they’d make out against the wall.

Instead, she and Aaron were given the royal treatment. They clearly had the best table (even over Marcus and Emil who she spied at a two-top closer to the bar). They were given champagne on the house to start, and a custom, fully vegan menu. Aaron smiled stupidly like he couldn’t believe his luck. Mora wanted to reach across the table and strangle him.

As they were finishing their champagne, Titus emerged from the swinging kitchen door and her heart sank through the floor. He looked perfect here in his restaurant, surrounded by his staff, his customers, his dream, his vision. She felt desperately embarrassed of Aaron when Titus arrived over his shoulder, clasped down on it with sudden, brutish force, and Aaron jumped up to shake his hand. He was a head-and-a-half shorter than Titus. He stumbled over every word trying to apologize for proposing to Mora, trying to explain that he never knew they had feelings for each other (“It was all very surprising,” he laughed in his stupid, good-hearted way), and finally asked for Titus’ blessing. Mora jumped in to save her own pride.

“This is all very impressive, Titus,” she said cooly, her bejeweled ring finger resting conspicuously on the table.

Titus bowed his head. “I’m grateful you’re both here, and I’m very happy for you both.” Aaron beamed at Mora who remembered at the last second not to roll her eyes.

“You’ve given me a chance to add vegan options to our menu. Aaron, can I assume you’ll have what Mora is having?”

“Oh, yes!” Aaron said enthusiastically.

“Excellent. Now, have you had a chance to look at the wine list? I’m happy to make a recommendation-”

“I would love a recommendation. I wouldn’t know a red from a white!” Aaron laughed, trying to get Mora to join him. She didn’t. “I’ve wanted to get more into wine, but I just find it all very overwhelming,” Aaron finished sheepishly.

“I completely understand,” Titus replied with a knowing smile as if he too struggled to tell red from white. As if he wasn’t a level three sommelier. “For the vegan menu tonight, I’d recommend the Sangiovese,” Titus leaned over Aaron’s wine list and pointed to it with his silver pen. “Medium body, savory style, high acidity,” he continued as if casting a spell over Aaron, who had stars in his eyes. “Notes of sage and rosemary, which pairs well with the vegan parmesan breadcrumbs on the seitan,” he finished, now looking at Mora.

“That sounds perfect! Babe, is that what you’d like? Should we get a bottle?” Both Aaron and Titus’ eyes were turned on Mora, one full of stars, the other full of daggers.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”

They didn’t see Titus for the rest of their dinner. One server brought them the wine, another brought them their food. They started with garlicky bruschetta and crispy fried artichokes, both delicious. The vegan chicken parm was so rich and flavorful that Mora had to admit to herself that Titus had followed his calling. She’d never had vegan food as good as this. For desert, they ordered a dark chocolate lava cake with powdered sugar, fresh raspberries, and a raspberry sauce. The wine paired perfectly with all of it.

When the bill came, the only item on it was the bottle of wine. The hostess brought it and let them know everything else was on the house, courtesy of the chef. While Aaron shook his head incredulously and handed Livia his credit card, Mora excused herself and went to the bathroom to cry. The night hadn’t gone at all the way she imagined. Titus seemed so happy. He was in his element. Aaron was such a moppet compared to him. It had been exciting to make Titus jealous when they were together, but that’s where her attraction to Aaron ended. There are things you can overlook about someone when you’re their friend that you can’t overlook when they’re your fiancé. She’d have to call it off with Aaron. She’d also probably have to move back in with her parents while she looked for another job. Influencing was also not what she imagined it would be. Albie was expensive and vets didn’t accept vitamin-C serum as payment, regrettably.

She took a few deep breaths, blotted underneath her eyes and at her upper lashes, fluffed her hair, and left the bathroom. Titus did not corner her. There was no apology. No making out.

VI.

On the drive home, Aaron couldn’t stop raving – about the food, about the wine, about the ambiance, about how nice Titus was to them. “I’m so relieved,” he said to himself out loud. Mora looked out the window as city became highway became country. “Me too,” she said, devoid of any meaning.

        About 30 minutes later, they pulled onto their long gravel driveway. One light on the farmer’s porch was on. The rest of the house was dark. It was an early summer night, before the crickets and cicadas reached their full volume in the grass and trees. The night was still and quiet.

“You okay?” Aaron asked as they walked up the driveway, his arm slung around her shoulder, the sound of loose gravel crunching under their shoes.

“Yeah. Just tired.” Mora wasn’t lying. She was exhausted and looking forward to peeling off her dress, Spanx, and fake eyelashes and collapsing into bed.

“Me too,” Aaron yawned. “Man, that wine was so good. Sangiovese!” he said in a over-done Italian accent.

As they walked by the chicken coop next to the back door, Aaron pressed his face close to the mesh like he always did to see if their two chickens had settled in for the night.

“Hey, where are Demi and Chi-Chi?” he asked.